The World Carries On Without You
by florals
Summary: "And I know that one day, I'll see you again." It's everything to them, that day. Their one day. AU.
1. May 16th, 2008

a/n: so, this is only the first chapter of what will be a very AU fic. I will warn you, there is character death, but this story isn't quite as simple as that. It's not all completely depressing and sad, I promise (it's tragedy AND romance for a reason). This chapter is only the introduction, and the next chapter will give a much better sense of what the story's completely about, but I don't want to spoil you all quite yet. Also, a big thanks to everyone who helped with this, especially Elaina (who gave me one of the biggest pieces of inspiration for this fic), Jess (for reading this through and catching my silly mistakes), and Shayna (who literally helped me develop this entire idea).

* * *

><p><em><strong>I watched you disappear into the clouds<br>**__**swept away into another town  
><strong>__**the world carries on without you**__**, **__**but nothing remains the same  
><strong>__**I'll be lost without you, **__**until the last of days**_

_**- Last of Days, **_**A Fine Frenzy**

* * *

><p><em>May 16<em>_th__, 2008_

Bright lights flash.

She blinks rapidly, letting her eyes readjust to the neon glow as she walks out of the bathroom and back onto the wooden floor. From across the room, she can see him sitting, waiting for her, his head hanging backwards over the top of one of the seats. She giggles to herself, noticing how his foot is tapping along absentmindedly to the beat of the music playing through the speakers.

_Don't Stop Believin'._ He loves this song, she knows.

She walks carefully, staying as close to the wall lined with racks full of bowling balls as she possibly can so he won't see her. He does this to her all the time, sneaking up on her, scaring the living daylights out of her. Every time, she screams in terror, and he ends up laughing hysterically. One time, he did it to her when they were at the mall, and a security guard had run over, thinking that Finn was assaulting her.

They almost got kicked out, but they apologized and Rachel almost had to pull the fake tears act. She wasn't really mad though, not at all.

It's impossible to stay mad at him. If there's anything that ten years of friendship have taught her, it's that she'll never be able to stay angry when it comes to him.

When she finally gets close, she tiptoes up behind him, biting her lip to stop from laughing as she watches him sing along to himself. She creeps closer, closer, closer, until she's right there, grabbing his shoulders.

"Boo!"

Finn jumps in his seat, spinning to look at her, eyes wide. The laughter bursts out then, uncontrollable as she moves around the chairs to sit next to him, sliding down against his side as he pretends to glares at her.

"Real funny, Rach," he mumbles, trying not to grin. She can tell he's attempting to hide a smile, so she pushes on his arm playfully, trying to get it out of him.

"I got _you_ for once," she says, clapping happily when he finally smiles, rolling his eyes at her.

"Yeah, yeah, but at least I didn't scream like a girl like _someone_."

"Well I am a girl, so it's completely acceptable for me," she replies, and he just rolls his eyes again.

"Sure, Rach. It's your turn, by the way."

She groans and he laughs, shoving her off the seat gently. While she doesn't exactly _hate_ bowling, she's completely terrible at it. She manages a strike once a game if she's lucky, and she throws more gutter balls than she knocks down pins. But it's one of his favorite things to do, and their parents don't let them stay out late to go cosmic bowling on Friday nights all that often, so she humors him the few times he really wants to go. They're fourteen now, so they get to go all by themselves and stay until the bowling alley closes at midnight, and it's fun to get out and feel a little bit older for a change.

She walks up to the ball return, grabbing the shiny pink ball she's been using before walking over to stand in front of the lane. Winding back, she uses all her strength—which isn't much—to throw the ball down the lane. The ball travels down the middle for just a second, and she begins to bounce on her toes in excitement.

Then, she sees the ball begin to veer off to the side, effectively falling into the gutter just a few feet before the pins, leaving them all upright. She stomps her foot in annoyance, spinning around to find him smirking behind her. Her second attempt doesn't go any better, and the ball rolls into the gutter again. Keeping her angry face on, she huffs back over and sits down again, crossing her arms over her chest. She feels him nudging her with his elbow, teasing her.

"I hate bowling," she grumbles, and he just shakes his head.

"No you don't."

"I do."

"Whatever," he jokes, standing up to take his turn. Picking up his bowling ball, he easily throws it straight down the lane, taking out every single pin. "Strike! Yeah baby!" He yells, fist pumping as he turns around to face her. He does a celebratory dance that looks more like someone put an ice cube down his back, and Rachel continues to fight off a smile.

He dances back over to her, continuing to fist pump, and she sighs in fake annoyance.

"You are ridiculously annoying," she states, and he gives her a lop-sided grin.

"You love me."

"I don't," she replies, but her grin gives her away. She does love him, more than anything, she's sure. He's her very best friend, has been for as long as she can remember. She's known him for ten years, since she and her dads moved next to door to Finn and his mom. And since that first day they met, they'd been inseparable.

He's her entire world, outside of her dads, and couldn't have asked for a better best friend. Truthfully, he's her _only_ friend, and she's so grateful for him. He's never abandoned her, not once. Not when they started elementary school and boys were supposed to think girls were gross, and not when they got a little bit older and kids started calling her a loser. And after years of teasing, it wasn't like she had the best self-esteem. She actually started to believe the horrible things kids said about her, from the comments about her huge nose to the fact that she was too short. Finn's her only saving grace in school, the only one who doesn't see her as an ugly, annoying girl with two gay dads.

The only one that doesn't see a target right on her back.

And she knows that he doesn't need her, not like she needs him. He's not a loser, and she's not the only friend he's got. In fact, he's pretty popular, and she knows a bunch of the kids in school look up to him. Next year, when they finally go to high school, he's going to play football, and Rachel knows how good he is—even though she's not a big fan of sports, she's been tagging along to all of his games with his mom since she he started playing in a rec league in elementary school. She knows he'll be the big man on campus one day, the football star. She knows people will want to be his friend; she knows girls will be clamoring to date him.

Heck, she knows plenty of girls who would love to now. She knows Quinn Fabray, the pretty blonde who's already been recruited for the high school cheerleading squad, has a crush on Finn. Rumors and gossip spread fast in middle school, and even though she's low on the social totem pole, she's not oblivious to the whispers.

Finn, however, doesn't seem to care. He's the definition of popular, and she couldn't be more unpopular if she tried. But he still chooses to spend his time with her, no matter what other people say about her. And she knows that he hears people talk about them. She knows that people ask what he could possibly see in her, but he never lets them get away with it.

He's kind of like her knight in shining armor. Her protector.

And she knows, just like she knows she needs him, that he doesn't need her the same way. Without her, he'd still be cool. He'd still have tons of friends, and tons of girls after him.

Rachel isn't oblivious to the fact that he's one of the cutest boys in school either, although she scolds herself for thinking about it. He's her best friend, and that's it. Even if she felt something more for him, it wouldn't matter.

Girls like her just don't get boys like him.

Best friends? Maybe.

Boyfriend and girlfriend? No way. Not when there are pretty girls like Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez, skinny, perfect girls with perfect hair and perfect noses and perfect skin, who'd want to be with him. Rachel knows she can't compete with girls like them.

She sighs again, thinking about it for another moment, before shaking her head. He loves her like a friend, probably like a sister, and she loves him too. And if he's perfectly happy being her best friend, then she's happy too.

"What're you thinking about?" he asks, snapping her out of her thoughts. "You've got a look on your face like you're trying to figure out which Barbra movie is your favorite."

She giggles, biting her lip out of habit. "You know 'Funny Girl' is my favorite, Finn."

"Yeah, I know," he replies, ducking his head a little as she continues to smile up at him.

She's about to say something else, maybe tease him about knowing her favorite Barbra Streisand movie, when they hear his cell phone go off in his pocket.

"It's my mom," he tells her once he sees the caller idea, pressing the button to answer it. _"Hey mom…yeah…yeah, we're almost done…we just have to bowl another two frames and then turn in our shoes…uh huh…okay mom…bye."_ He hangs up, pressing the button again and slipping the phone back into his pocket. "She said she's going to leave to come get us in a few minutes, so we better finish this game. You know, so I can say I beat you four times in a row and stuff."

She huffs, placing her hands on her hips. "Well what if I refuse to finish the game then?"

"Then," he replies, smirking, "you forfeit, which still means I win. Better to like, bowl and lose with dignity."

"You are insufferable," she lies, pouting, but he just tickles her side, causing her to squirm and laugh.

"I don't even know what that means."

"Oh, Finn," she mumbles, grinning at him affectionately.

She loves him, she truly does.

* * *

><p>"Four games. I think that's a new record for us."<p>

"Us?"

"Well, wins for me and losses for you." She hits his chest and he flinches, groaning as she skips off in front of him, out of the bowling alley. It's raining hard out, so when she spots his mom's little grey car parked out front, waiting for them, she sprints as fast as she can without slipping.

"Hi Carole," she says, greeting his mother as she climbs into the seat behind her.

"How was it, sweetie? You didn't let Finn beat you again, did you?" Carole asks, turning to smile at her over her shoulder.

"She didn't let me—she didn't have a choice," Finn cuts in, climbing into the backseat with Rachel.

"Oh shush," Carole replies, giving her son a look, and Rachel giggles to herself because Carole is always on her side. "I'm sure Rachel could kick your butt if she tried, right Rachel?"

Rachel nods, smirking at Finn, and he scoffs, shifting down in his seat.

"You just like her better than me," he tells his mom as she puts the car in drive and starts to pull away from the building.

"I do," she agrees, joking, and Finn rolls his eyes. Rachel continues to smile, enjoying just how wonderful she feels right at this moment. As much as she adores Finn, she adores his mom just as much. Rachel's always thought of Carole like her own mother, and she knows Carole thinks of her as a daughter—she's told Rachel herself.

"Goodness," she hears Carole mumble to herself in the front, and Rachel watches her turn the windshield wipers up to a higher level. "I swear this rain just came out of nowhere."

Rachel shifts her head, turning to look out the window next to her. The water is pouring down in sheets, and it's truly hard to make out anything outside of the car. She can feel the car slow a bit as Carole puts the breaks on when they start approaching an intersection, but she feels the car speed up again when the light turns green.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Finn sitting up a little, and then hears him start to speak.

"Mom—"

It's all that comes before bright lights through his window blind her, and the next thing she knows, there's an ungodly noise, the loudest noise she's ever heard. A sickening cracking of metal and glass, a scream ripped from someone's throat, a squealing of rubber on cement.

Bright lights flash, and then the world turns black.

* * *

><p>She feels hands on her body, all over her body. She feels arms wrap around her, and she feels herself being lifted, limp like a rag doll.<p>

Then there's something hard beneath her back, and she feels more hands moving over her. Her eyes flutter open, and she's met with more light.

"Can you hear me, Rachel? Stay with me, okay? Stay with me Rachel, you're going to be okay."

She feels searing pain, like red-hot fire coursing through her veins.

She closes her eyes again.

Black.

* * *

><p>The next time her eyes open, the world isn't so blurry.<p>

She's in a hospital.

She's on a hospital bed, and there's a machine beeping next to her. There's something in her arm, actually _in_ it, a tube leading from her body to an IV bag attached above her. She feels something heavy on her leg and arm, and when she looks down, she sees a white cast over her entire right arm.

She still hurts.

"Oh, Rachel."

She slowly turns her head at the sound of her name, seeing her dad and daddy standing up and moving towards her immediately.

"Oh baby girl, you're awake. She's awake, Leroy," her dad says softly, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. She sees tears in his eyes, which are already red.

Her daddy comes right up beside him, placing a comforting arm around his shoulder.

"Wha—" she tries to speak, but her throat is dry, and she starts to cough.

"Here pumpkin," her dad says, quickly grabbing a cup with a straw off of a small table behind him, holding it up so she can take a few small sips.

"What happened?" she asks when she can finally get the words out.

Her dad drops his head, and she sees her daddy squeeze his shoulder gently. "There was an accident, sweetie. Do you remember?"

She thinks for a second, trying to remember. She thinks hard, concentrating, but all she can remember is black. Black, the deepest darkness, until suddenly, a flash of light.

Light.

Screams.

A crash. There was a crash. The bowling alley and a crash and—

"Finn," she says suddenly. "The bowling alley, and Carole."

Her dad nods, his face twisting into a frown. "Yes sweetie, on your way home from the bowling alley. It was raining, and another car slid through the intersection. They couldn't stop, the car was hydroplaning—"

"Finn," she repeats again, her mind suddenly flashing with memory. "Finn and Carole—"

"You were unconscious when the paramedics got there. They said you must have hit you head on the window," her daddy continues, shaking his head. "You only woke up for a moment, and then they think you started going into shock, and you've been out since."

"Daddy—"

"Your arm and leg are broken, and they had to take you into surgery," he continues, ignoring her attempts to ask him what she really wants—_needs_—to know. "They had to fix up your leg, baby, but don't worry, because the doctor says with a little time, you'll be just fine. You're going to be fine, baby," he tells her, kneeling down next to her bed and taking her hand in his own, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to it softly. "You're going to be okay."

"Where's Finn?" she asks, her voice becoming a little stronger, more urgent. "Daddy." She watches as he shakes his head, and she turns to look up at her other father, still standing, his face turned downward. "Daddy, where is Finn? Where is he, Daddy?" she continues to ask, until she hears her dad gasp, inhaling a sharp breath. She can see the tears start to actually fall from his eyes, and she panics. "Daddy, where, Daddy, where's Finn? Tell me!"

She's starting to become hysterical, and before she knows it, she's crying, her breath coming out in short gasps.

"Rachel," her Daddy starts, refusing to look at her, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Where, Daddy, where is Finn? Tell me where he is!" she cries, her face crumpling, her heart breaking. "Finn, where…" She can't even finish her question again as she starts to choke on her breath and her tears, everything just too much at once.

Next to her, her dad loses it completely, giving into the sobs as he watches her fall into hysterics. Her dad stands back up, wrapping his arms around his partner.

All he can do is watch. There's nothing to say, nothing he can do.

Nothing.

"Finn," she chokes out again, hiccupping as she starts to lose control of her breathing. "Finn. Daddy, please. Please Daddy."

But there's nothing, nothing at all.

Nothing.

And she knows.

* * *

><p>She doesn't want to see anyone, doesn't want to talk.<p>

She doesn't want to hear people tell her they're sorry, or worse, that they're glad she's okay.

She's not okay.

Not at all.

She's broken and shattered, and it's nothing they can stitch up to fix.

There aren't any casts, aren't any bandages to fix what happened.

* * *

><p>She hears her dad calling her from downstairs. She doesn't move.<p>

She doesn't care, not about anything. All she wants to do is curl up in her bed, fall back asleep, and forget today even exists.

She wants to forget that this whole week—hell, she'd give back the whole month if it would change things.

She'd give back anything. And today just makes things worse.

"Rachel, sweetheart," she hears her dad call again, and she can hear his footsteps coming up the stairs.

She sits. She doesn't care.

"Rachel?" There's a small knock on her door before she hears it open, but she remains still, sitting on the edge of her bed. She stares straight ahead, looking over the photo frames that sit on her vanity.

_A picture of her and Finn when they were six and had fallen asleep on the couch together during a movie._

_Rachel and Finn at the zoo in third grade, their faces poking out of the holes in a big wooden board. Rachel was a zebra. Finn, appropriately, was a giraffe._

_The two of them standing together in Times Square, just a little over a year ago for Rachel's thirteenth birthday. The only thing she had wanted in the whole world was to see a real Broadway show, and for her best friend to go with her. She lets her gaze wander up then, to the Wicked playbill stuck in the side of the mirror. She had picked that show special, because she knew out of all the musicals playing, out of all the shows they could have seen, Finn would love that one best. And he had. After the show, he had tried to play it cool, like musical theater wasn't really his thing, but she had snuck glances at him throughout the entire performance and seen how his face had lit up. She saw him mouthing the words along to almost every song, easily recalled from all the times she had played the cast recording from him._

She had thought maybe one day, they'd get to go back to the city and see it again.

But not anymore.

"Rachel, we have to leave soon. Do you want me to help you with your dress?" her dad asks, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinches at the touch.

"No!" she snaps, pulling away. "No."

"Sweetie, we'll be late if—"

"I'm not going," she says, her gaze fixed in front of her.

"Rachel—"

"No!" she yells, and out of the corner of her eye she can see her father reel back. She doesn't want to go today, doesn't want to say goodbye to her best friend for the last time. She just wants to stay here and try to forget.

"I know this is difficult," he says softly, moving to stand in front of her, "but if you don't go today, I know you'll regret it later. One day, you'll wish you had been there."

She doesn't say a word, just continues to stare, even as he kneels down in front of her. Staring straight over his shoulder, she refuses to crack.

"Come on, baby, be strong. You're so strong, my sweet girl. You're so strong. Think about Carole, she'll want you there."

Her lip twitches at the mention of Carole, but she just takes a deep breath.

"Finn would want you there, to be strong. He'd want you there with his mom, Rachel. You know he would."

And with just the mention of his name, everything breaks. Her steely expression cracks, and her face falls.

"I can't," she cries, shaking her head as her tears finally fall. "I can't, I can't. I can't say goodbye to him."

"You're strong, Rachel, you're so strong," her dad repeats, moving his hands to cup her cheeks, guiding her face down so that her eyes meet his. "You can be strong."

"I can't," she chokes, her breath escaping her. "I can't say goodbye."

"Shh," he soothes, pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her. "I know you can do this, Rachel. It's not goodbye, okay? It's not goodbye."

She continues to cry in her father's arms for what feels like hours, until she feels like there's nothing left in her. Once he hears that she's calmed, her dad pulls back, smiling at her gently. "There you go, baby girl. You're strong, so, so strong."

She just nods, almost imperceptibly.

"Let's get your dress on, alright?" He wipes a tear away from her cheek before standing up and walking to her closet. She turns, frowning as she watches him pull out the black dress her daddy had picked up for her just yesterday, when they realized her old black dress, the one she had worn to her grandpa's funeral two years ago, was just a little too small.

She hates the dress, hates everything about it. She hates how black it is, a reminder of that night, a reminder of everything wrong. Black like the darkness, black like everything she feels.

She shakes her head frantically, tears threatening her once again.

"What's wrong?" Her dad notices immediately, looking back and forth between her and the dress. "I thought—"

"I hate it," she says, forcing the words out. "I hate it."

"The dress? You said—"

""I hate it," she repeats, her voice faltering as she tries to hold herself together. "It's too black and it's too dark and it's too—it's too sad! I hate it!" She cries, shaking her head fiercely. "He wouldn't like that dress, he'd hate it! He'd…he'd," she stumbles over the words, trying to gain some sort of control over her breath, over her emotions.

"Hey, hey, hey," her dad starts, setting the dress down on the bed and walking back over to her. "You don't have to wear it, okay? We'll find you something else."

"But it has to be black. It's a…a funeral," she says finally. Until now, she had been refusing to acknowledge just what today was.

Just what was going to happen.

"You can wear anything you want, sweetie. Wearing black, it's kind of an old tradition that's not followed very strictly anymore. We'll find something else. Something he would like, alright?"

"Okay," she replies softly, nodding.

* * *

><p>Her dress is blue, with little specks of yellow and red, a delicate floral patterned sash wrapping around her waist. It's the dress she picked out for eighth grade graduation, which is only two weeks away.<p>

Blue is his favorite color.

_Was_ his favorite color.

* * *

><p>She can feel everyone's eyes on her as she enters the church. She's like a real, human reminder of everything that's happening, everything that happened. She can't walk on her own because of her broken leg, and she can't use crutches because of her broken arm, so she's stuck in a wheelchair that she can't even move on her own.<p>

As he daddy pushes her down the aisle, she focuses her eyes on her lap, refusing to meet anyone else's. Everyone here knows exactly what happened. They all know that she was in the accident—that she walked away relatively unscathed.

From what everyone can see, she only has some bumps and bruises, and few bones out of place. Physically, she'll be just fine.

She'll be fine.

Everyone's here because she's fine, and Finn—

She shakes her head, trying to clear the thought.

As they get to the front of the church and her daddy gently positions her chair next to the pew, Rachel finally looks up. She sees the front of the church, the steps covered in flowers and pictures, the casket centered at the top.

She squeezes her eyes shut quickly.

No, no, no. This is wrong. Everything's wrong. This can't really be happening.

She hears her fathers talking quietly to someone for just a moment, and then there's a soft hand on her shoulder. When she opens her eyes, she sees Carole in front of her, cupping her cheek. Her eyes are red, but she's giving Rachel the best smile she can muster.

"Thank you for coming, Rachel. It would have meant so much to him. You look absolutely beautiful."

Rachel bursts into tears.

* * *

><p>The service in the church is very simple, more of a memorial. Carole and Finn weren't extremely religious, but Rachel knows how important this is to his mother. There are a few prayers read, and the priest says some things that Rachel doesn't really listen to, until he says that Finn's mother, Carole Hudson, would like to say a few words.<p>

Rachel watches as Carole slowly makes her way up to the pulpit, adjusting the small microphone with her hand, covered in a brace. Besides a few cuts, the only telltale sign of the accident that Carole carries is a broken wrist. Rachel grips the hem of her dress with her good hand, taking a deep breath as Carole begins to speak.

"Fourteen years ago, I was blessed with the most perfect baby boy in the entire world. I was scared and alone, with a husband off training with the army, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I was young and convinced that without Christopher, Finn's father, I'd never be able to raise a child properly. But when the nurse handed me my son for the first time, when I heard him cry and saw him open his beautiful eyes, it was like nothing else in the world mattered. My baby boy—he was completely perfect.

"For those first few months, it was just Finn and I, and it was difficult, taking care of a newborn all by myself. But I was so in love—I never knew I could love someone so much. Christopher returned a few months later, and it was like our family was finally complete. But it didn't last long, because he was sent overseas not long after, and it was back to just Finn and I.

"I always thought that it was just temporary, that even though it seemed like Christopher was an entire world away, he'd come back, and we'd be able to share the joy of raising the child we created together. He barely had a chance to get to know his son before he had to leave, but I just kept telling myself that he'd have the rest of his life to spend time with Finn once he returned.

"But then I got the news that Christopher had been killed. He wasn't even—" Carole pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath as she tries to keep her emotions under control. "He wasn't even in combat. He had been doing routine patrol when a bomb went off, and…and the moment the news reached me, it was like my whole world fell apart. Suddenly, I was a single parent, permanently, to a son who couldn't even remember the time he had spent with his father—the only time he would _ever _have with his father.

"I was beyond frightened, because as much as I was grieving, I couldn't let it stop me from trying to be the best mother I could be to Finn. And Finn—he was truly the brightest light in my life. And I always missed Christopher, always will miss him, because he was the love of my life, but as I watched Finn grow, I saw all the pieces of Christopher that I loved so much in him. Finn was kind, honest, caring, and so, so loving. A wonderful son, and an amazing friend." Carole pauses again, looking out and meeting Rachel's eyes, a sad smile on her lips. "Finn was loved by so many, and it truly touched my heart to see so much love radiate around one person."

Rachel can't stop her tears from falling then, a hiccupping sob escaping her lips. She feels as if every piece of her heart is completely broken, shattered within her chest. She thinks of Carole, who's lost not only her husband, but now also her son, the most important thing in her life. She sucks in a breath and feels her lungs burn, like she's drowning, sinking in complete sadness.

"I miss my son," Carole continues, shaking her head as a few tears escape and roll down her cheeks. "I miss my son, and I will never not miss my son. I wish every day since the accident that I could go back in time—that I could change everything. I wish that I had left my house a few minutes later, that I had been driving just a few miles slower. That maybe, if I could just shift everything by a second, the other car would have hit the front of ours, instead of the back…" Carole stops then, shaking her head as she brings her hand up to cover her mouth, her tears becoming too difficult to stop.

She can't do this, she just can't. Rachel looks over to her daddy, her eyes begging him to do something. As Carole tries to regain her composure up front, Rachel gasps for breath, shaking as sobs wrack her body. She feels her daddy take her hand in his own and squeeze it softly, but it's not enough.

"Daddy," she nearly croaks, her heart clenching in her chest.

Rachel thinks that if it were possible to die from this kind of pain, this would be the end. It's like there's shattered glass pressing up against her ribs where her heart used to be, ripping and stabbing and destroying everything inside her.

She's about to beg her daddy to help her, to take her away, to make it all stop, but she can't get the words out. She hears Carole begin to speak again, and it takes everything in her to try and steady her breath so she can hear Carole's words.

"What happened to my son—my Finn, my perfect baby boy…he didn't deserve to be taken away so soon. He touched so many lives in his fourteen years, the fourteen short years that he was here, and it breaks my heart knowing that the world has lost someone so kind and generous. I know that he had great things ahead of him, and to see it all cut short is tragic. Yet, in the midst of this tragedy, I can tell myself that he'll never be gone, not completely. I can smile, knowing that the memories I have with Finn will never be gone, and that everyone here, everyone that knew him and loved him, is better because of it. The love that he shared and gave us—that will never, ever disappear. And every time I feel as though my sadness is too much, I remind myself that he's still with me, even if I can't see him, or hug him, or hear him tell me that he loves me. I believe that there is a Heaven, and I know that Finn's up there, watching over us. And if he could say anything right now, he'd probably say, _'don't cry, mom. I'm right here.'"_

Despite her tears, Rachel feels a tiny smile creep onto her face. She knows Carole's words are true—if Finn was here, he'd just give her a goofy smile and tell her not to cry. He'd tell her that her smile is too pretty to hide behind tears—that he loves her most when she's smiling. And so she tries to smile then, just for him.

Because maybe Carole is right. Maybe Finn isn't so far.

* * *

><p>On the day that she is finally able to walk on her own again, Rachel has her dad drop her off at the front gate of the cemetery just a few miles outside of the town. She asks him to wait in the car, and she slowly makes her way across the grounds until she comes to spot she's been looking for.<p>

Kneeling down, she places a hand on the stone in front of her, tracing the lines of a name she knows she'll never forget.

"Hi Finn," she says softly, her eyes shining. "I miss you, and I love you. I love you so, _so_ much. And I know that one day, I'll see you again."

One day.

* * *

><p><strong>tbc<strong>


	2. May 2009

a/n: sorry about the delay in updating - real life has been crazy. Hopefully the next part won't take as long. A huge thanks goes out to Jess for reading through this for me, and also for her endless encouragement.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I dreamed I was dying, as I so often do<br>**__**and when I awoke, I was sure it was true  
><strong>__**I ran to the window, threw my head to the sky  
><strong>__**and said whoever is up there, please don't let me die  
><strong>__**but I can't live forever, I can't always be  
><strong>__**one day I'll be sand on a beach by a sea  
><strong>__**the pages keep turning, I'll mark off each day with a cross  
><strong>__**and I'll laugh about all that we've lost**_

**- **_**Calendar Girl**_**, Stars**

* * *

><p><em>May 2009<em>

She kicks at a rock in the middle of the sidewalk, sending it bouncing into the grass. She sniffles and wipes at her eyes before crossing her arms back over her chest, trying to keep a fresh round of tears from starting. With each step she takes, she feels the stickiness on her chest and legs, the only thing remaining from the slushie that had been thrown at her at the end of the day.

Just remembering how that stupid jock had come up to her, yelled "freak!" and thrown the slushie right at her is enough to cause the tears to fall, no matter how much she tries to stop them. She had felt so humiliated, walking to her locker and then out of the building, crying as she wiped pieces of ice off of her face. And to make matters worse, she had to walk all the way home, sticky, cold, and crying.

Her breath comes in gasps as she tries to pull herself back together, because if there's anything she's learned over the past year, crying doesn't do anything. It steals her breath and leaves her eyes raw and red, but she never feels better.

She never feels any better.

Counting her steps, she tries to focus on something other than the distance she still has before she's home. She feels a drop of rain hit her forehead, and she glances up at the grey sky above. She just shakes her head and goes back to counting steps, because she's certain that even rain can't make today worse.

There's something they say about rock bottom, and but Rachel doesn't need to know the exact phrase.

She's been living at rock bottom for a year. A year to the day tomorrow.

By the time she finally gets home, she's soaked to the bone, her entire body a wet, sticky mess. Her dads are still at work, and she's thankful for that. If they saw her, they'd undoubtedly turn this into a huge deal, and all she wants to do is be left alone.

She climbs quickly up the stairs and enters her bedroom, placing her backpack next to her desk before walking into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Slowly, she peels off every piece of clothing, setting them in the sink so that they don't make a mess on the floor. She looks at herself in the full body mirror that hangs on the back of the door once she's completely naked, wincing as her eyes roam over her reflection. Her skin looks sullen, and her hipbones are starting to stick out. She's been losing weight faster these days, because the medicine her therapist has her on completely ruins her appetite, and the only time she gets a decent meal in is when her dads nearly force it down her throat. But so far, the antidepressant she's on now is the only one that's actually done anything for her mood, which managed to go from completely lifeless to somewhat livable.

Tearing her gaze from the mirror, she opens up her medicine cabinet, reaching past that little bottle of pills and grabbing one of her makeup wipes out of the package. Carefully, she wipes around her eyes, removing any bits of left over syrup before she walks over to the shower and turns on the faucet. She waits just a moment for the water get hot, just hot enough to not scald her, before she climbs in.

She stands under the water, completely still, feeling the hot water pelt against her skin. She stands still for just a minute and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

And then she slowly sinks to the bottom, bringing her knees up to her chest.

One more deep breath, and then she begins to cry.

* * *

><p>"Rachel!"<p>

She hears her dad's footsteps coming up the stairs and she sighs, running her brush through her wet hair one more time. There's a knock, and then her dad pops his head inside.

"Hi pumpkin, how was your day today?"

"It was fine," she replies softly, setting her brush down and averting her eyes to her lap.

"I picked up some Chinese for dinner tonight, and I made sure to get lots of the veggies you like. Why don't you come down and we can all eat together?"

"I'm not very hungry," she responds, keeping her gaze trained downwards.

"Sweetheart," her dad starts, but Rachel just shakes her head.

"I don't want anything."

She hears him let out a sigh behind her before she hears her door click back shut.

Twenty minutes later there's another knock on her bedroom door, and before she can get up off of her bed, her dad walks in, a plate full of rice in his hands.

"Eat this," he says, setting the plate down in front of her.

She knows it's all he'll ask of her tonight, so she just nods and waits for him to leave before she picks up the fork and slowly begins to eat.

It's the least she can do.

* * *

><p>She knows that as much hell as she's been through this past year, she's given just as much to her fathers. And not the kind that most parents experience as their children go through their teenage years.<p>

No, this kind of hell that Rachel struggles with is much deeper, much darker, and she knows that her fathers feel it just as intensely as she does. She knows that as much as she hurts, they hurt for her.

As much as she cries, they cry for her.

Her entire life, she has been the light of their life—their beautiful baby girl, so full of spirit and joy. They've done everything they could to make her happy, and for so long, she has been.

But now, there's nothing they can do but watch her and pray that she gets better.

She hears them talk at night, when they think she's asleep. She hears her dad cry and she hears her daddy pray that one day she'll feel _something _again.

She hears her daddy pray for her over and over again, and she doesn't have the heart to tell him that it's pointless.

The only thing she feels is emptiness, and prayer?

Well, it never brought Finn back to her.

She doesn't think it can bring her back, either.

* * *

><p>She turns off her bedroom lights and slips under her covers when the clock hits eleven. She can hear the television turn off downstairs, and just like every evening at this time, she hears footsteps on the stairs again.<p>

Her door opens and she squeezes her eyes shut, just like every night.

"Goodnight, Rachel," her daddy says softly. "We love you."

And then her door clicks back shut for the third time that evening.

She waits patiently, staring at the ceiling as her eyes adjust to the dark. Twenty minutes pass, and she quietly crawls out of bed and walks over to her dresser, opening up her underwear drawer. She pulls out her journal and grabs a pen off of her desk, tiptoeing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Flipping the light on, she sits carefully against the cabinet under the sink, flipping open the small book to a new page.

And just like every night, she begins to write.

"_Dear Finn"_

* * *

><p>She wakes up the next morning, slowly opening her eyes and turning to look at the alarm clock next to her bed.<p>

6:14 am.

Sitting up, she pulls the covers back and stands up, stretching her arms above her head. She doesn't think she slept all that long, a few hours at most, but her muscles feel tight. She's become accustomed to this, as much as she can be—the small amounts of sleep and the waking up early. She's been a morning person her entire life, but these days, she's not actually waking up _for_ anything.

She's just waking up.

As she starts to walk into the bathroom, her gaze catches the pictures on her desk, and she sucks in a breath, closing her eyes. She doesn't want to think about today, doesn't want to remember anything. All she wants to do is make it through the day without breaking down.

She takes another deep breath and continues her walk to the bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet once inside. She grabs the little bottle on the middle shelf and pops the cap, tipping the bottle so one of the pills falls into her palm. She takes the pill right away, dry swallowing it without a second thought.

After closing the medicine cabinet, she places her hands back down, bracing herself against the edge of the sink as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She decides that maybe she could eat something, so she leaves the bathroom and quietly opens her bedroom door, slipping out and down the stairs as quietly as possible. She knows that her dads will be up soon, but she wants to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

She makes some toast and picks up an apple from the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, and right before she's about to turn around and make her way back up to her room, she hears someone come up behind her.

"Morning, sweetheart," she hears her dad say softly as he comes up behind her and places a hand on her shoulder, reaching around her to grab the coffee pot.

"Good morning," she replies softly. She decides that she might as well stay downstairs, since she can hear her daddy making his way down. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she takes a bite of her toast and watches as her dad pours himself a cup of coffee.

"You're up early," her daddy comments as he walks into the kitchen, bending over and placing a kiss on her forehead.

She nods, taking another bite of her toast. It's a little burnt and she really wants to throw it away, but she knows that the only way she's going to get her fathers out of the house today is by appearing as _normal_ as possible.

Normal.

As if there's such a thing anymore.

"What time are you leaving?" she asks, looking up from the table.

Her daddy sighs, taking a sip of his coffee before looking at his partner. "Well, we planned to be out of here by eight, but if you don't—"

"No!" Rachel responds immediately, almost too enthusiastically. All she wants is to be left alone today, and it had taken her weeks to convince her dads that she'd be fine alone while they attended an art festival in Cincinnati that they went to every year.

"You're desire to have us leave so badly makes me nervous," he replies, looking straight at her, and Rachel looks back down to her lap. "Rachel—"

"I just…." She pauses, trying to figure out what to say exactly. She knows that her dads' worries aren't completely unfounded, since she's been clinically depressed for a year now, but she's not going to do anything drastic. Even her psychologist had concluded that she wasn't suicidal, at least not that she could tell. Rachel was depressed, but she didn't show any signs of having the intention or capacity to harm herself.

Still, she hated talking about things like this with her fathers. Before the accident, before everything happened, their relationship had been wonderful. She had been open and honest with them about nearly everything, and she had never had a problem being emotional or vulnerable around them. But now, she hates giving them any reason to feel sorry for her—she knows they do. She knows they wish she could just be happy again. Or at least not so miserable.

She takes a breath and finally continues. "I just know that if you're around me today, you'll be hovering, and while I understand, I would really appreciate some space. I…I need some space to just think." She nods, almost trying to convince herself, with a sense of finality.

Her daddy turns to look at her dad, who just raises his eyebrows a bit. It's silent communication, but Rachel knows she has at least one parent with her.

"Come on, Leroy," her dad says softly, "let's go get ready."

Biting her lip, Rachel looks back down to her lap, letting the breath she didn't realize she was holding out as her dads pass by her, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

* * *

><p>She slips on a sports bra and tank top, then a pair of shorts. She hasn't done anything very physical in months, but ever since her dads left an hour ago, she's been feeling uneasy and unusually restless. Usually, she can't muster up enough energy to want to leave her bedroom, but right now, all she wants to do is get out of the house.<p>

She takes a glance at the calendar sitting on her desk, taking note of the date once more.

May 16th.

She needs to get out of the house.

Her iPod is sitting right there in front of the calendar, but she ignores it. She doesn't care to listen to anything right now. Slipping on her tennis shoes and tying them up tight, she quickly makes her way downstairs and out the front door, locking it with the spare key hidden under one of her dad's flower pots.

It's still a little cool outside since it's only nine in the morning, but the colder air feels good as she inhales. She takes a deep breath and feels it, really feels it, deep in her lungs.

Something about today feels different, and not in the way she expected. She chances a look to her right, to the house next door, and see's Carole's car sitting in the driveway.

Rachel wonders what Carole will do today. If she'll go outside, if she'll answer the phone. Rachel thinks that if she could, if she was old enough to have her license, she'd get in a car and just drive, out past the cemetery, right out of town. She'd drive as far as she could until it started to get dark, and then she'd pull over and just stare up at the stars.

Alone.

That's what she would do.

A car driving past on the street breaks her from her thoughts, and she finally steps off the porch, making her way down her driveway and onto the street.

And then she just runs.

* * *

><p>She runs until she's out of breath, doubling over and panting, her lungs aching. She finally stops to look around and realizes she's nearly two miles from her house. Two miles she ran without stopping, without a second thought. She hasn't run in months, but today she runs two miles.<p>

Every breath she takes scrapes at her throat, and she starts to feel dizzy as her body cries for water, for something. She sits down on the sidewalk and brings her knees up to her chest, leaning her head down as she takes another few breaths, trying to slow the spinning of the world.

She sits there for nearly fifteen minutes before her stomach stops churning and her breathing evens out. A woman walking past with her dog stops to ask Rachel if she's okay, but Rachel just nods and tells her she's taking a break, and the woman continues on without a second thought.

Off in the distance she hears a siren, a police car or an ambulance, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Taking one more deep breath, she stands up, running her hands over her face and rubbing at her eyes furiously before she opens them.

She turns on her heels and begins to walk slowly in the direction of her house. It didn't take her very long to run the two miles, and she hardly noticed the physical toll it was taking while she was actually jogging, but now, her legs seem to ache with every step she takes. She knows it's because she's weak—she hasn't been taking care of herself at all lately. She used to dance and sing all the time, and she'd work out nearly every morning. Now, her lung capacity has shrunk, her muscles have weakened, and she feels the consequences in every fiber.

She feels stupid and silly, a complete fool. She's disgusting and small and nothing—practically nothing anymore. This past year has been hell, complete and total hell, and on today of all days, she should have known better.

She's only just existing, and that isn't going to change.

* * *

><p>By the time she makes it home, she's hot and tired, and her body is crying for water. She drags herself over to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle and nearly downing the entire thing in one drink. She kicks off her shoes, not even bothering to bend down and untie them, and just leaves them sitting in the middle of the kitchen. She'll come back for them later.<p>

She turns and walks over to the stairs, thinking that maybe she'll have a shower, or maybe she'll just pass out on her bed. Maybe she'll just sleep, until her dads get home, until the sky gets dark, until it's midnight and the day is over.

That sounds like a good plan.

When she gets upstairs, she notices that her bedroom door is shut, which is odd because she's almost positive it was open when she left. Pushing it open, she freezes in place when she looks up.

Someone is standing in her room, in front on her dresser, looking down at one of the picture frames sitting there.

Someone—no, no, it's not. She gasps audibly, and the sound causes the person to turn around, a goofy grin forming on his face.

Finn. Someone who looks just like Finn. A clone, or a ghost, or a mirage, something. Something with Finn's face, and Finn's smile, and Finn's striped sweater. Something tall, with his short brown hair and tiny, faded freckles.

"Hey, Rach."

She screams.

* * *

><p>She screams, dropping the water bottle as she clasps her hands over her mouth, screaming until she runs out of breath.<p>

"Rach, no," he says, his smile immediately fading. He moves from the dresser stepping around the bed to move towards her, but she just holds her arms out.

"No! " she yells, shaking her head wildly. "No, you're not—who are you? No, you're not, I'm imagining things. You're not Finn, you're not real." She steps backwards, bumping into the edge of the open door.

"It's me, Rachel. You remember." He tries giving her a small smile again, but she just continues to shake her head.

"Oh god, I'm really going crazy, I'm losing my mind," she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut as hard as she possibly can.

"You're not crazy—"

"Stop! You're not—this is my imagination, you're just in my head. I need to—" She spins around then, as if to leave the room, but then thinks better of it, turning back again. "Oh god, I'm seeing things, I'm seeing things, I'm just seeing things," she repeats, over and over, as if it'll make him disappear.

He doesn't.

"Rachel, I'm real. Well, kind of," he amends, shrugging, and she just looks up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Oh god," she says again, her eyes widening. "They're going to send me away, lock me up somewhere." She tries squeezing her eyes shut again, this time counting down from ten under her breath slowly.

When she opens her eyes, he's still standing there in front of her, his hands shoved in his front pockets.

He looks so much like, Finn, _her Finn_, but he's not. He's been gone a year. A year today.

"No, you're not here!" she nearly screams, clenching her fists at her sides. "You're in my head."

"I'm not."

"You're not real."

"I am," he replies, taking another step towards her.

"No, it's not possible. You're gone. You died. You died a year ago." There's a pain in her chest when she says it out loud, like her heart's cracking, splitting right down the middle.

"I came back."

"No," she whispers, shaking her head.

"I did, I came back, I came back to see you."

"No."

"I've missed you so much, Rach. So much."

"No, you left. You can't—"

"I came back. For you. I came back to see you."

She feels tears start to pool in her eyes, and she wipes at them before they can fall. They're both silent for a moment before she looks up at him, _really_ looks at him. Everything is the same about him, exactly how she remembers him.

"Are you…are you a ghost?" she asks quietly, looking at him sadly.

"I don't—I don't think so," he answers. "I'm not really sure, though. I don't know exactly what makes someone a ghost, but I don't think they're actually real. They can't feel or touch. I'm real." He holds out his hand towards her, his palm open. "I can touch you. Here."

She hesitates for a moment, biting her lip as she looks straight into his eyes.

"It's me, Rach. Finn. It's just me, your best friend."

"How do I know for sure?" she asks, her voice low and nervous.

"Because I can tell you that the first day I met you, you asked me to do ballet with you and I had no idea what ballet was, 'cause we were like four years old. And I can tell you that we used to hide out in your old playhouse in the backyard all the time in elementary school when we were supposed to be inside doing our homework. I can tell you that the first time we saw an R-rated movie, we were nine and it was a horror movie that Puck gave me, and we watched it in my basement while my mom was at work and the babysitter was upstairs, talking on the phone with her boyfriend all night. We cried because we were so scared, and we had to go over to your house and tell your dads the truth, and then they let us sleep on their bedroom floor in sleeping bags that night."

A small smile starts to form on Rachel's face at the memory, and Finn takes another step towards her.

"You were always my best friend, even when we weren't supposed to be friends because you were a girl and I was a boy. You used to make me play jump rope during recess all the time during first and second grade instead of playing kickball, and I did because it made you really happy. Your favorite sweater was always the bright pink one with the white cat on it that your grandma knitted you, and you cried when you accidentally spilled grape juice all over it at lunch and ruined it. It's _me_, Rach. I promise, it's me."

"Finn," she says softly, looking at his had, still outstretched towards her. Tentatively, she reaches forward, just barely touching her fingers to his.

She can feel him. His hand on hers as he takes her fingers and softly squeezes them with his own. They're real, they're solid. She can feel his skin, the bones underneath. Real. They're real.

"Finn," she murmurs again, once more. Then, she's throwing herself forward, into his body, her arms wrapping around him as she buries her face in his chest. She begins to cry in earnest, tears falling from her eyes and soaking right into his sweater. She feels his arms wrap around her and pull her close to him, as close as possible.

"I've missed you so much," she chokes out, coughing as she gasps for air through the sobs.

"I know," he responds, rubbing her back gently. "I've missed you too."

* * *

><p>They don't move for what seems like hours. They just stand, holding onto each other, like he'll disappear again the moment they let go. She clutches the fabric of his shirt tight in her hands and listens to his heartbeat as she lays her head against his chest.<p>

He has a heartbeat, a real heartbeat. If she could somehow reach inside of him and touch it, she would—make this moment even more tangible, even more physical.

"Are you going to leave again?" she asks, finally breaking the silence they've fallen into. She's scared of his answer, as if she already knows the answer. The inevitable.

"Yes," he replies, still holding onto her tight.

She nods, as much as she can with her face pressed so close to him. She turns to look up at him, and he's already looking down, a sad expression on his face.

"Just today?"

He nods, his face falling even further.

"Okay," she says, barely a whisper. "Okay."

* * *

><p>"I didn't go to Heaven. Or wherever it is people think you go—I guess it is a kind of afterlife, but it's different." He looks away for a moment, as if he's thinking of the right way to describe it. She just squeezes his hand in hers.<p>

They sit on her bed, knees pressed together as they sit cross-legged, facing each other. He returns his gaze to her, and he smiles a little.

"It's like a waiting place. Somewhere to rest while I wait."

"What are you waiting for?" she asks, but he doesn't answer her question. He shakes his head, but continues to smile.

"It's like—everything and nothing at all. That doesn't make sense, I know, but if you saw it, Rach, you'd know. Sometimes it's like I'm surrounded by mountains, or trees, or just the sky for miles and miles, and other times it's like I'm just lying on a big sheet of glass, looking down at the world below. It's always different."

"Looking down?"

His face lights up then, and his smile grows. "Yeah, I'm always looking down at things here, watching. But it's not like, creepy or anything. I just _see_ everything, like I'm supposed to."

Her face scrunches up a little in confusion. "You're supposed to? What are you supposed to be watching?"

"You. I just see you, all the time."

"I—me?" Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. "You don't—there isn't anyone else you see? Ever?"

"Well, I see other people. Sometimes I watch my mom, just to make sure she's doing okay, you know. Stuff like that. But the rest of the time, I see you. No matter where you are—school, home, all of that. But nothing weird, I promise!"

She laughs because she knows he's serious, that he would find it totally weird to see her _all _the time. But just as she really starts to think about it, her face falls. She looks down to her lap, her voice becoming quiet. "So you've seen everything? School, and…everything?"

She feels his thumb running over her knuckle before he threads their fingers together, clasping them tightly.

"I see you when you sit alone at night, when you lock yourself in your bathroom. And I see when you cry, and when you're trying really hard not to, when you're trying to pretend you're okay for your dads. It makes me sad, Rachel—I'm so sad when you are."

"Finn—" she starts, her voice getting caught in her throat.

"You're so sad, and I just—I never see you smile anymore."

She finally breaks, the tears beginning to fall freely. She pulls her hand out of his, moving both of hers up to her face, covering her mouth as she cries. It's too much, too much, too much.

"You're—you're," she tries, hiccupping over sobs. "You're gone, and I need you." He winces, and she continues. "I need you, to not be sad I need you."

He shifts then, leaning forward to grasp her by the shoulders and gently pull her to him. Taking her into his arms, she folds herself against him.

"I'm always here, I promise," he says softly, his face resting above her head as she tucks her face into his shoulder. "You can't see me, but I'll always be here with you, Rach. Always."

* * *

><p>"I write to you," she says, her head resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. "In my journal. I just started one night. I was so sad, and I missed you so much, and it just happened."<p>

"I know," he responds, running a hand along her back. "I saw. Or heard. I just know the words—like I could hear you speaking them as you wrote."

"You could?" She sits up a little, looking at him seriously.

He nods, looking up at the ceiling, remembering. "I could hear your voice, and I could see words, like they were floating in front of me. And I wanted to do something to help you, but I couldn't. I just had to sit and see them, and they were big and black and they were _right there_, right in front of me. But then at the end, I'd always hear you say, _"I miss you, and I love you,"_ and God, Rach—just hearing that made me so happy. Not happy that you were missing me, but," he stops and shifts, turning to look at her as they lie side by side on her bed, "to know that even after I was gone, I still meant something to you."

"Finn," she starts, a sad kind of smile playing at her lips, "I'll always miss you, and I'll always love you. You've always been my best friend, and you always will be, I know it. Even if I never see you again after this moment, there'll never be anyone else like you. I'll always…" she pauses, drifting off for a moment as she looks away shyly. Her heart pounds, and she feels like it's loud enough for the entire world to hear. "I'll always love you." She shrugs, smiling a little more. "I always have."

"I always loved you too, you know. More than anything ever."

She sighs, a pitiful feeling washing over her. "Yeah, because we're best friends."

"No, well not just 'cause of that. I really loved you, Rachel. I still do. That's why this all sucks so much."

"You…this…what?" She tries to process his words, confused by what he's trying to say.

"Rach, the whole reason I'm here right now, why I can always see you, why I didn't go to Heaven, or wherever, is because of _you_." He sits up then, eyes wide as he looks at her. "That accident, it made me leave before I was supposed to. I was supposed to stay here, alive, _with you_, so much longer. I can't leave you yet because I'm really supposed to be here with you."

Rachel sits up and faces him again, her brow knitted together, a frown of confusion on her face. "What do you mean you're supposed to be here with me? Finn you—you died! You died and now you're back and tomorrow you'll be gone again and—and," she stops, frustrated as she stumbles over her words, "and what do you mean you were supposed to stay with me?"

"I don't know," he says, "I don't understand it. All I know is that I just kind of _knew_, once I left here. Like it was something I was just supposed to know without being told. I don't know how it works, but I know there's a reason why I usually only see you, why you're so important even after I left. Rach, there's a reason why I'm waiting up there, in this weird in-between place."

She looks at him, her eyes wide open, begging for him to explain it to her.

"Rach, I'm waiting for _you_."

* * *

><p>Her eyes are tired and red, her body exhausted from crying. She looks at him, his eyes red, cheeks tear-stained as well.<p>

She reaches out and touches his face, wipes away a tear that nearly about to fall.

"Can't we do anything?" she finally asks, her voice a whisper.

He shakes his head and looks like he might start crying again.

She finally understands what he's been trying to tell her—what he's been meaning to say. That there's something more to the two of them that just a girl who lost her best friend—more than just two people who became best friends in the first place.

"I can go with you," she says, her voice getting a little louder. "I'll leave here, and I'll go with you, back up there, and then you won't have to wait. I'll—I'll do it, Finn. I'll…I'll die." Her voice gets soft again, almost imperceptible, on the last word.

His eyes fly open at her words, shocked. "What? No! Rachel, no, no, absolutely not. You can't—"

"Why not?" she interrupts, her voice sharp. "Why? I'm miserable here. I hate it. I miss you and I'd rather be with you."

"What about your dreams? I can't finish school and get a job, but what about you? You're so talented, and you have real dreams, Rach. You can be on Broadway, you can do _anything_—"

"I thought about it, you know," she says calmly, interrupting him again. "A couple weeks after the accident, when I was miserable, the most miserable I'd ever been. I felt so guilty that you were gone and I had survived—I saw your mom crying in her car one day, you know that? I thought about how hard it must be for her, to lose her husband and then her son, and I wished that it was me instead of you. I thought about doing it, I did, but I was too scared. I knew I'd never be able to go through with it, because what good would it do anyone else around me? Make them even more sad? I couldn't do it then, but now, knowing that you're up there, waiting…Finn, I could do it." She looks at him, her eyes pleading.

"You can't," he tells her again, his voice desperately. "I don't even know if it would work. It might—we might not be together then."

"Why?"

She watches as he thinks for a moment, trying to figure out a way to explain it.

"Because it's like, there's a plan. And it got messed up when I died, but it wasn't our fault, so the plan just kind of got adjusted. Now I have to wait, until you come to get me, I think. And I don't think we're supposed to try and change it. What if you do something, and you get sent somewhere else—not Heaven, or the place where I am? It's—we just have to wait, Rach."

"But we're fifteen, Finn!" She almost burst into tears again, tears of frustration and anger. "What if I'm supposed to live to be ninety, or a hundred? I don't want to wait that long. I _can't_."

His lips curl just bit, that lopsided grin she loves so much turning into the saddest smile she's ever seen. She thinks it's the only thing he can do to try to keep from falling right apart.

"A hundred years now, but after that, we'll have forever. It'll be worth it, I know it will."

And she knows he's right. She'd spend a thousand years on earth if it meant the next thousand, the next million, could be with him.

* * *

><p>They sit on the rug right next to her desk, their backs pressed against the bench in front of the end of her bed. She flips through the pages of her journal, ignoring all of the parts she actually wants to remember—the parts before the past year, the parts where Finn's still very much an active role. She stops when she finds it, the day she's been looking for—<em>June 19<em>_th__, 2008._

"There's something scribbled out here," she says, pointing to a chunk of the page at the top that's been colored over with black pen. "I started writing something else, but it wasn't right. So I started writing to you instead." She motions to the text further down, the _"Dear Finn,"_ obvious and bold.

"Read it to me," he says, gently nudging her shoulder with his own.

"You already know what it says."

"I want to hear you read it. Again," he amends after a second.

She purses her lips, eyes scanning the words on the page quickly. "Finn, I don't—"

"Please, Rachel." He grasps one of her hands with his. Reassurance.

She takes a breath, looking once at their joined hands before looking back to the paper.

"_Dear Finn," _she starts, her voice low. _"I miss you. It's been more than a month, and I still miss you so much. I don't understand why this happened, or why it had to be you. I don't know why I'm still here. I wake up and I miss you, and I fall asleep every night trying not to remember what happened. All I remember is noise and sound, but I don't remember you. I didn't see you when it all happened. I try not to think about how much you must have hurt, but I can't help it. I wish I could have been with you. I don't know if you were awake long, or if it really was instant like the doctors said. I want to believe them, but I worry that you were there, alone, hurting. I wish I could have held your hand—"_

Rachel stops then, shaking as she crumbles, the memory or writing this overwhelming her. She feels Finn squeeze her hand tighter, bringing their joined hands up to his face, kissing hers as he tries to comfort her. Murmuring quiet words to her, he urges her to continue.

"_I wish I could have held your hand or tried to help you," _she continues, her voice shaky._ "I wish I could have told you one more time that I love you, that you were my best friend. The best friend I'll ever have. I don't know what to do without you."_

When she pauses, she feels him squeeze her hand again, and she goes on.

"_If you were here, you'd make me feel better. You'd make me laugh. But you can't, and I hate that. I hate everything. I want to quit. I wish I could quit. I need my best friend more than anything, but you're not here, and I miss you. I miss you and I love you, so, so much."_

She turns to look up at him, her eyes shining with tears. They match his, glossy and red still, ready to burst at any moment. Instead of crying, though, he leans over, pressing a kiss right next to the corner of her eye.

"It didn't hurt," he says after a long moment of silence, her hand still held firmly in his. "At least not for long. I saw the car but then everything went black. I saw some light for just a second after that, and it felt like my whole body was on fire. But it was just a second."

Rachel nods, her voice caught in her throat. She doesn't what she would say if could, though.

"I don't want you to be so sad, Rachel. I want you to take care of yourself. I want you to sing again—you can't give that up. You're so amazing, Rach, and you can't give it up. Promise me you won't give it up."

All she can do is nod again.

"And I want you to smile. I want you to be healthy. I know I can't tell you not to be sad, but maybe you can be not as sad? For me?"

She nods again. "For you."

* * *

><p>"I'm tired," she says through a yawn, her body curling up over the covers on her bed.<p>

"Big day," Finn jokes, and she smiles.

"Yeah. My dads will be home soon."

"I know. I have to go soon."

The smile on her face fades.

"Stay."

"I can't."

Her face falls further, knowing he has to leave again.

"Come here," he says, shifting so he's lying against her pillows, gently tugging on her arm. She curls up next to him, and he presses another kiss to the top of her head. "Sleep. You're tired, and you need some actual sleep."

"But I want to stay awake while you're here." She's fighting a losing battle, however, as her eyes flutter shut and then back open.

"It's okay. I'll stay here until it's time, right next to you."

She lets her eyes close again and scoots even closer to him.

"I'll be gone when you wake up, but I'll come back."

"You will?" Her voice is sleepy, and she's already starting to drift away.

"One day. A year from now. Our day."

"Our day, it sounds nice."

"I love you," he says, and it's the last thing she hears before she floats off into sleep.

* * *

><p>She wakes up suddenly, her eyes flying open. She was dreaming about something, but she can't remember what exactly.<p>

She sits up quickly, her hands flying to her face as she realizes she's alone. He's gone. She looks to the clock. 12:14 am.

Getting up slowly, she walks to her door, slipping out into the hall. She walks down to her fathers' bedroom, nudging the door open to see them peacefully asleep. She wonders when they got home.

She wonders how long Finn was able to stay. There's not a doubt in her mind that he was really here.

Slowly, she closes her parent's door again, quietly making her way back into her bedroom. Closing the door, she grabs her journal from her desk and sits back down on her bed, turning on the small lamp on her side table.

Opening the book, she grabs a pen, turns to a new page, and begins to write.

"_Dear Finn,"_

"_Today, I saw you, and today, you changed everything. I miss you already, but I can't wait to see you again. I love you more than anything."_

* * *

><p><strong>tbc<strong>


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